


Midnight Op

by imaginary_iby



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: 702 episode tag, Episode Tag, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-01
Updated: 2016-10-01
Packaged: 2018-08-18 23:08:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8179253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imaginary_iby/pseuds/imaginary_iby
Summary: Danny finally gets his fish'n'chips - with a little help from Steve.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Let the record reflect that it killed my Victorian soul, calling potato cakes "potato scallops" - *shakes fist*
> 
> Let the record also reflect that it's called a midnight operation, despite taking place at 3AM. Numbers are hard, yo, it's a wibbly wobbly timey wimey thing.

The bed is sinfully warm, the duvet fluffy and soft, and Danny snuggles deep into his carefully built cocoon. He’s missed the joy that only a big warm bed on a freezing winter’s night can bring: tucking a chilled nose back under the blankets, curling tight to avoid cold patches of mattress, sliding a knee between his partner’s hairy thighs.

The creation and maintenance of a steamy bundle of blankety goodness is not something that Danny takes lightly, so it’s very disappointing to discover that Steve has abandoned the task. The hotel bed is big - ridiculously, luxuriously, offensively big, and Danny could starfish his way around for days before falling off an edge - but it’s not big enough to hide the fact that Steve is gone.

Sinfully warm blankety goodness, now feels despairingly lonely. Call him a sap, but there’s little that Danny loves more than hotel sex, holiday sex, room service at one in the morning before fucking by the window and falling into a king-sized bed to sleep until midday - or until Steve’s mouth wakes him up, whichever comes first.

The fireplace has long since gone dark, there’s a chill in the air, and Steve is nowhere to be seen. Danny sprawls, toes pointing, fingers stretching, and is comforted by the discovery that the sheets beside him are still warm. His bed mate can’t have left long ago.

He doesn’t want to go back to sleep. He wants Steve. He wants their warm cocoon. He wants to share their big fluffy bed and to fight off the cold, together.

The hotel door creaks open, and Steve - bundled in what looks to be about 17 woollen jumpers - scuttles inside. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck,” he murmurs, one hand pressed to his chest, the other sliding the lock shut.

Danny sits up, startled. “What the hell? Where did you go?”

Steve spins around, face falling when he realizes that Danny is awake, and looks pissed. “You’re up,” he says. “It was supposed to be a surprise.”

Danny’s about to let off some serious steam, when two things come to his attention: one, Steve’s belly is sticking out oddly like he’s carrying rather misshapen twins, and two: the room suddenly smells strongly of cod.

Danny blinks, confused, and then blinks again a few times for clarity. “Is that...?”

Steve reaches up under his jumpers, hands rummaging around before he eventually withdraws a large white parcel, wrapped in butchers paper and smelling divine. “It’s freezing out there,” he says, handing the parcel over. “This seemed an efficient way to keep warm.”

Danny takes the parcel - the fish’n’chips - in stunned silence. “Well,” he says eventually. “It’s three in the morning, in London, in winter.”

Steve kneels on the bed, leaning down to reward himself with a warm, wet kiss. “This is true, yes.” He bumps his nose against Danny’s.

“It’s three in the morning, in London, in winter, and you brought me fish’n’chips.”

Another bump of the nose. “Again, true. And it wasn’t easy, trust me, I had to sell my soul.” With a smacking kiss to Danny’s cheek, he pulls back. “Start unwrapping, I’ll get us some plates.”

Danny does as told, but grabs Steve’s hand, draws him back to the bed. “Plates are for amateurs, babe. You’ve got to tear the paper, make a little pocket.”

He liberates a potato scallop from the mountain of food, scooping it into a pocket and happily handing it to Steve. “See?”

Steve, a fan of any efficient food-delivery system, immediately takes a huge bite. His cheeks bulge, and Danny is so fucked that he finds it endearing.

“S’good,” Steve declares, waggling his eyebrows as Danny makes inroads on a fillet of fried cod.

“It really is,” Danny says - or something like that, his cheeks might be bulging a little bit, too. He crosses his legs, tucking his knees up close against Steve’s, the parcel of fish and chips resting on their laps.

They munch in companionable silence, doling out fish and chips and calamari, potato scallops and pickled onions. The room smells fishy, the bed smells salty, but they’re warm beneath the blankets and the bundle of food. Eventually only a few stray chips remain, and Steve scrunches up the paper, lobbing it across the room and out of sight, out of mind. Danny does the honourable thing and struggles out of bed to retrieve a pile of napkins, and once clean, (and once Steve is stripped again) they sag back into bed, full and content.

“It’s snowing,” Danny says. Their hotel window looks out onto Hyde Park, streetlights illuminating trees that are quickly turning white. It’s quite the sight, and Danny could stare all night if not for the fact that Steve is spooned up behind him - the mood Danny’s in, he wants to turn, to face his partner, to tuck under his chin. He does so, burrowing into Steve’s warmth.

“So?” Steve asks, because he’s competitive and Danny knows him very well.

Danny rolls his eyes, but he’s radiating affection. “Yes. This was better than Rachel’s pub.”

Steve beams, nuzzling in for a victory kiss.

“And,” Danny continues, because 3AM fish’n’chip retrieval is a gesture that deserves a declaration of love, “something tells me we're still going to enjoy these memories, twenty years from now.”


End file.
